


Winter Winds

by winterwaters



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU - Night's Watch as a Sisterhood, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Romance, Sisters, What Have I Done, past angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:59:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>”I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.”</em>
</p>
<p>AU in which the Night's Watch is a Sisterhood. Inspired by this picture on tumblr:<br/>http://allinye.tumblr.com/post/54761887161/game-of-thrones-au-the-nights-watch-as-a</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh man. I did it. I've been staring at this picture for days and tonight I just had to write. I really have no idea where this is going, or what world this is really. There are some crossover characters from other books, just because they are also kickass women. I'm going to be figuring this out as I go. Hope you'll go with me :)

Arya swung her sword, her grin fierce as Eowyn raised her arm to meet her, and their swords clashed in the stillness of the night. 

Thrust and parry, push and pull, fire and ice – the two danced in the yard to steps they were both familiar with.

They continued until both were dripping with sweat despite the cool autumn air. It was only when Kel call from the barracks that they stopped, lowering their swords and saluting each other. Arya swung her braid over her shoulder, tucking any escaped strands behind her ear and sheathing Needle. Eowyn grinned, slinging an arm about her shoulders.

“You get better every time we fight, Stark.”

“As do you, Mistress of Rohan,” Arya replied cheekily, knowing she would receive a slap on the head in response. Eowyn didn’t disappoint, her hand thwacking her even before she’d gotten out the last word.

“Careful, youngster,” she replied, though she was grinning. “You have yet to beat your own teacher.”

Kel met them in the doorway, shaking her head at their state. “Do you two ever stop?”

Both women raised an identical eyebrow. “Never,” they replied together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inside, they heaved off the chain mail and washed up, changing into their other set of tunic and leggings – also black, as was everything else here. Castle Black was aptly named, Arya thought not for the first time. Coiling her braid into a knot at the back of her head, she tied it in place with a leather strip from her wrist.

Her boots echoed against the stone as she walked towards the main hall, where the other women would be dining, as they did every night. Pushing the huge wooden door open, Arya slipped inside, nodding at the others already seated. Kel waved to her, gesturing to the empty seat, and Arya smiled in reply. 

She took her food, murmuring quiet thanks to the young pages before turning towards her table. She remembered the feeling of being a young trainee all too well, having spilled more than her share of pots while on cooking duty. 

Taking the seat next to Kel, she grinned at Brienne, who sat across from her. The older woman shook her head, her mouth twitching as she took in her state. 

“You missed a spot, young wolf,” she said before taking another bite, and Arya grinned as Eowyn laughed at her from her spot next to Brienne.

Looking further down the table, Arya gave a slight nod to the red-haired woman who sat at the head. Sansa was the chosen leader of their band of warriors. Ruthless, proud and unerringly loyal, she lead them almost regally with a firm hand. She was also Arya’s older sister. Now she gave her a smile back before turning an attentive ear back to Margaery, who sat at her right. 

One of her sister’s closest friends, Margaery Tyrell was as clever as she was pretty. And gods, she was pretty. It was one of the reasons she made such a good soldier. Men got so lost looking at her looks or her bare skin (which was never all that covered, despite the cold), and they seemed to lose all their wits, making them easy targets.

The door banged open, and Arya muffled a laugh at the wild ginger-haired woman who stood in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed and her braided hair hung in tangles around her pale, freckled face. Somehow managing to look sheepish and defiant all at once, she glared back. 

“What?” She asked crassly.

Arya waved her over, and Ygritte closed the door just as gently (that is, not at all) before making her way through the tables. Winking at her as she sat down on the bench, Ygritte leaned over to steal her apple.

“There’s a right chill coming this way,” she said between bites, and her smile was wicked. “Feels good.”

“Winter is coming,” Arya replied with her own grin.

“You Northerners are a scary lot,” Kel commented with a shake of her head, and Arya nudged her none too gently.

“ _Us_ Northerners,” she corrected, and Kel’s hazel eyes glinted in the dim torchlight.

After they’d finished eating, Arya headed back to her room. Grabbing her bow and arrow, she slipped out back to the smaller practice yard. As she stepped into stance, her muscles relaxed, easing into their familiar positions. Her focus narrowed until it was only her and the target: elbow raised just slightly, feet steady, the tip of the arrow by her lip, grazing her just before she released. It hit the center with a satisfying thud, and Arya grinned.

She fired several more arrows before a voice broke the silence.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of watching you do that.”

Arya turned to see Sansa leaning against the rail, smiling. She was also dressed in black, though her tunic was longer, more fitted before widening into a divided skirt, hiding her leggings and boots from sight. Those long boots held their own sharp daggers, as did the concealed belt at her waist. Her sister was as good with the blades as she was with Needle.

Arya raised a hand in greeting, emptying the few arrows left in her quiver before making her way over to her sister. She hopped up to sit on the fence, her legs dangling off the ground, and they looked upon the yard in silence for a while.

“Still can’t sleep?” Sansa broke the silence.

Arya knew there was no point in lying. “Not really.” 

“Do you still dream of them?”

“Most nights.”

“You could go see Wylla, you know.”

Arya knew. Wylla was their healer, and a damn fine one at that. But Arya refused to resort to dreamwine or any other remedy to put her to sleep. There was no telling what that stuff would do in the event of a surprise attack. At least if she couldn’t sleep, she could train.

Her sister was well aware of her opinions, but since she’d offered anyways, Arya gave her a small smile in thanks. 

“What about you?” She asked instead.

Sansa looked into the distance, her blue eyes cold. “Some days are not so bad. Others are worse.”

“More bad than good?”

“Lately, yes.” Arya was surprised to hear her admit it. Then the strength crept back into her sister's voice, so reminiscent of their parents. “But we’re together. That’s what counts.”

“Yes. That is what counts,” Arya agreed quietly, and the sisters stayed out long after the last candle was blown out, watching and waiting and wondering what was next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the encouraging comments! So I've jumbled around a lot of story structure and storylines - there might be things you recognize that are now different here and there. hope you enjoy :)

Arya could still hear the screams. 

The crowd chanted for her father’s head, practically mobbing the steps of the Sept. Because Yoren had roughly turned her face away, all she remembered of that day was narrowed to her other senses. The frantic energy of a crowd sick with bloodlust. The smell of sweat and leather and salt on Yoren’s tunic as her tears soaked in. 

The sun had been far too bright for what had happened that day.

And Sansa. Her screams seemed to reach out overtop the others, filled with pain and disbelief and sheer anger as only Arya could understand.

She’d pushed away from Yoren in that moment, slipping through the mad crowd easily with her small size and quick feet. Joffrey’s victorious yell turned into one of outrage, and she looked up only briefly to see Sansa struggle once before someone – a jester? – caused a ruckus and freed her, and she was off, shoes kicked off and skirts hitched up high around her feet.

Arya raised Needle once, praying Sansa would look her way and see the steel glint in the sun. Then she took off again, down past the sept and off into the side roads that she knew best. Rounding a corner, she nearly yelled as she crashed into another body.

Then her sister was holding her tightly, shaking with unreleased sobs, and Arya allowed herself a moment of relief that they still had each other.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Sansa was telling her over and over, until Arya shook her hard by the shoulders.

“No time for that. We have to move, Sansa.”

“I didn’t think- I shouldn’t have-“ Her breath hitched, her bottom lip quivering.

“Sansa! We have to go.” Arya clutched her sister’s hand tightly, tugging her along until she felt Sansa’s fingers grasp her own, and they were running together. The shouts of the guards seemed to come from everywhere at once, bouncing off the buildings and rooftops that seemed neverending. 

Finding an abandoned shack, they crept inside and crowded into a corner, trying to calm their breathing.

Arya looked at Sansa. “We need to do something about that dress.” 

“Do what you need to.” 

Arya nodded and cut a jagged slit on both sides of the wide skirt while Sansa unpinned the rest of her hair. As the curls tumbled over her shoulder, Arya gulped, knowing what had to come next and knowing her sister would hate her for it.

“Sansa-“

“I know,” her sister cut her off quietly. “But not right now. One of us needs to look like a girl still.” At Arya’s questioning glance, she colored slightly but remained firm. “Men are weak. They can be tricked.” 

She was right. Arya cut a piece of her skirt off with Needle, handing it to her, and Sansa bound her hair back in a knot as best she could with the strip of cloth. Then Arya handed her Needle hilt first and turned her back.

Sansa’s hands were gentle as she gripped her hair, slowly but surely chopping off chunks of it until Arya was surrounded by long brown strands on the floor. Her sister tugged gently at her ragged locks and she turned, taking Needle back.

“Do you still hear them?” 

Arya didn’t answer. She was too busy looking at her sister’s feet, which had been cut up and bruised by their scramble. “You need boots.”

“We _need_ father,” Sansa replied sadly, and Arya felt hot tears prick her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she shook her head and looked around.

Sansa gripped her arm. “I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

Arya chewed her lip, but upon hearing the horsehooves outside, she nodded. They slipped out the back, finding themselves in an open field with little cover. This is no good, Arya thought. We’ll be caught in seconds.

Pulling her sister back inside, they searched for anything of use to cover themselves. Finding an old green vest, she pulled it over her tunic, tying it off with a brown belt. Sansa had found an old, worn cloak. Though too short, it had a hood, and that was enough.

The unmistakable sounds of footsteps sounded outside, and they both froze. Slowly, their hands joined again as they crept out the back and around the side of the house. Waiting until the steps passed, they stepped on the road. The sun had finally disappeared behind a heavy cloud as a slight drizzle began to fall.

Arya spoke quietly as they walked. “We need to look like two travelers. A sister and young brother, maybe. Just going back to the inn where we’re staying.”

Sansa nodded silently, and Arya belatedly noticed a bruise forming under her cut lip. The anger welled up inside her again as they continued, consuming her until Sansa tugged at her tunic. 

“Kingsguard,” she whispered urgently.

“Keep walking,” Arya muttered back. “If we run, they’ll follow.” She gripped Sansa’s hand nonetheless.

Though they were not the only ones on the road, Arya felt far too exposed. One glance under the hood would be all it took. The few soldiers they passed seemed either unaware or too stupid to notice, and she inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

Then Sansa stopped, and Arya looked up to see The Hound standing in front of them.

“Run,” she whispered, and they took off away from the road. The yells began moments after, and Arya squeezed her sister’s hand harder as they ran. Her lungs gasped for air and her feet burned, but they ran. 

Sansa let her take the lead, and she hoped fervently that what she was about to do wouldn’t be an awful idea. Turning away from the Kingsroad, Arya headed instead for the run-down slums she could see in the distance.

Flea Bottom. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The calls continued behind them but neither turned to look, their feet splashing through the dirt as the rain fell harder. Slipping and sliding, Arya could only hope this would slow the soldier’s progress behind them.

She ignored the wide eyes as they rushed through the broken homes, stopping only when she caught sight of armor ahead. Turning abruptly, into an alley, she found herself at a bolted door. Slapping the wood in frustration, she turned and leaned against it, looking at Sansa. A lantern nearby flickered, giving rise to the knight’s long shadow as he approached. 

Then the door behind her suddenly gave way, and Arya nearly fell backwards. A pair of arms caught her and set her back on her feet, and she whirled, coming face to face with a torso. Craning her neck up, she met startled blue eyes set in a sharply angled face.

Before she could speak, the boy’s gaze darted behind her, and his expression changed. 

“Inside,” he said gruffly, reaching out to yank her in and thereby pulling Sansa along as well. She vaguely heard the footsteps quicken as he locked the door behind him and led them to the back, pushing aside boxes. A fist pounded on the door as loud voices began to gather outside, and the boy pulled on a handle in the floor, opening a door to reveal steps leading underground.

“Here. Go down the steps and don’t stop until you hit the end. It’ll bring you to the docks.” His deep voice was urgent but not unkind, and Arya thought he spoke true.

She gestured at her sister to go first, pausing before she climbed in after her. “Why are you helping us?”

Blue eyes met grey; blue softened, just barely. “I know what it’s like to be chased,” he replied. The door shook, and he pushed her down after Sansa. “Go!”

“Thank you,” Arya whispered, clasping his hand briefly, and he nodded before closing the door over them and trapping them in darkness. She heard him moving the crates back over the trapdoor, covering it from sight, before a snap of wood sounded, and the noises got louder. She could only hope he hadn’t signed his own death sentence by aiding them.

Sansa’s hand reached up to tug at her belt, and she reached out to take her hand as they moved down the steps swiftly. Stumbling at first, their eyes became accustomed to the darkness and they hastened along. Arya’s ears strained for the sound of footsteps following or a yell in the darkness. 

None came. 

Still, they ran blindly forward until Arya’s ears caught something else.

“Wait, wait.” She dug in her heels, making Sansa stop also.

“Are you mad?” Sansa hissed.

“Hold _on_. I hear something.” She backed up slightly, leaning to her left and nearly screaming in shock when a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“Seven hells, it is you,” a female voice whispered.

A small torch suddenly lit up, revealing a lovely face framed by long, sandy brown locks. 

“Margaery?” Sansa’s whisper was relieved and suspicious all at once.

“It’s me. Only me. I swear to you,” the other girl replied. 

“How did you get down here?”

“The castle has many secret passages. I happen to be one of very few who knows of this one in particular.” She paused, her normally bright face twisted in grief. “I’m so sorry. I saw what happened.”

Both sisters only nodded in reply, and she moved closer, whispering, “I can get you out.”

Arya felt Sansa’s hesitation and voiced it. “We can’t trust anyone. Not anymore.” 

“You _can._ You must,” Margaery replied urgently. “I will not lead you astray.” 

Arya was about to refuse when Sansa spoke up instead. “If you want our faith, you must show some in return. If you know this passage as well as you claim to, then you know where it leads. Gather what you can and find us there at sundown. We’ll make sure you can see us.”

The emotions warred on Margaery’s face, but seeing them both set in determination, she gave in. “Alright. I’ll be there at sunset and not a moment later. Don’t you dare leave without me,” she added, her lips curling into her familiar fierce grin, and Arya nearly smiled back despite it all.

Then she blew out the torch, and Arya could only whisper after her, “Bring some boots, for Sansa,” before they were running again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smell of salty sea air hit their nostrils as they reached the tunnel’s end. Giving the door above a slight push, they peeked out to see where they were. Only boxes and random items cluttered the floor, but no footsteps. The bustling of the docks sounded beyond, and they emerged quickly from the crawlspace, looking around.

Arya grabbed an old fisherman’s hat, covering her head, and Sansa pulled her hood up again. Peeking through the slats, Arya knew now why the boy had sent them there. The docks were impossibly crowded with people of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Vendors and sailors alike filled their air with their loud voices.

They could hide in plain sight.

Absently, she wished she’d remembered to get his name.

Then she shook her head at the silly thought, knowing that it wouldn’t have mattered. If she had it her way, she would never be coming back.

Sansa and Arya slipped into the crowd, wandering until Arya managed to pick enough pockets to buy them some bread and cheese. Huddling in a corner behind yet another stack of crates, they munched slowly and awaited nightfall. The water turned shades of red and orange to match the sky when the sun finally began to set, and they made their way to the wharf, where the fisherman’s statue stood. It was a common meeting spot. Sure enough, as the sun’s last rays slipped over the horizon, Margaery found them.

Her mischievous grin firmly back in place, she cajoled an innkeeper into letting them use an empty room for a few hours to wash up. Sansa and Arya didn’t waste much time washing, instead scrambling to change the clothes Margaery had brought. Arya nearly hugged her when she saw the loose tunics and leggings. Her sister surprised her by taking Needle again and cutting identical slits in her dress. Handing the sword back, she turned and let out her hair.

“Sansa-“

“It’s fine. Just do it.”

Arya took a section of hair, wrapping it firmly around her wrist before setting the edge of her blade to it. The steel sliced through the fiery locks easily, and soon Sansa was left with shoulder-length waves.

Margaery gathered up the hair and wrapped it tightly to throw out as Sansa stroked her short hair in wonder. “It’s odd. My whole head feels lighter,” she murmured, and Arya nodded in agreement. It was strange, but also somewhat freeing.

As night fell steadily, they gathered their things and went back to the docks once more. Arya finally understood why Margaery wore so little clothing. One look at her and men’s eyes seemed to bulge, all sense and protest leaving them at once. Nobody threw a second glance at her or Sansa when Margaery was sending sweet smiles their way.

Still, they found it difficult to find a ship that was willing to take them, until Arya fumbled at her belt and remembered the one token she did have.

Holding up the coin, she gave it to the captain. “Valar Morghulis,” she said, just as Syrio had taught her.

The grizzled man looked at her suspiciously, but the coin won out. “Valar Dohaeris,” he replied, and stepped out of their way. The three women boarded the planks, stepping onto the ship and putting King’s Landing at their back.

Sansa turned to Margaery. “Are you sure about this?”

The other girl’s eyes were sad, but firm in their resolve. “This was never my home. And after what he did … I could never take his name.” 

Sansa nodded in thanks, and Margaery looked down at Arya. “So where are we headed?”

Arya set her face to the wind. “North.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all your comments! :)

The days all began similarly, with Eowyn giving three sharp raps to Arya’s adjoining door before sunrise. They rose quietly and changed into their practice tunics. Sometimes it was only the two of them, dark silhouettes facing off on the grass as the first rays of the sun arrived. Other times they’d be joined by eager pages or other sisters, and some days, even Sansa couldn’t seem to stay away. 

Arya relished their trainings at daybreak. With the sweat pouring down her face and the breeze lifting her hair, all her focus shifted to the sword in her hand and the person in front of her. Usually, that was Eowyn. She was the only one who had not looked upon them with pity when they first arrived at The Wall. 

“You are not the only ones who have endured a great deal,” had been her first words. They were not unkind, just a gentle insight into how she would always treat them. As equals, but never with special favors. If anything, Arya had taken her words to mean _You’ve come to the right place._

And they really had. Though they had journeyed far from Kings Landing in the days following their escape, both she and Sansa had thought that somehow they would find their way back to some semblance of a home. Instead, they’d spent their days traveling and hiding, relying on inn gossip to learn about the rest of their family.

Following the news of their little brothers’ fates at Theon’s hands, Sansa had been silent for days, and Arya had never felt more useless. Somewhere deep down, though, she hoped beyond hope that it was not true – not that she would try to tell Sansa. They could not afford to deal in false hope. But Bolton’s burning of Winterfell … that struck Arya more than anything else. It fueled her anger, drove her further despite her tiredness, and made her thirsty for revenge.

Nobody had heard of Jon Snow. Before they left for King’s Landing, Arya’s favorite brother had been sent even farther North for stupid reasons unknown to her (though she suspected her mother was involved), and nobody had heard from him since. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had been traveling for weeks when the girls heard of the wedding between their Uncle and the Frey girl. The trio had immediately set off towards the Twins, hitching rides wherever they deemed it safe, trying to get there in time.

Nobody could have predicted the carnage they would find.

From then on a coldness had touched the sisters like no other, a darkness that seeped into their chest and wrapped around their hearts like a vice. For many nights after, they had stayed awake huddled together, staring into the night in silence. From now on, they had no one but each other.

Weeks later, when Arya was practicing early in the morning, she felt someone watching and turned to see Sansa’s sharp blue eyes following her movements. Her face held only open curiosity and no hint of the judgment Arya was so used to.

“Do you want to learn?” She’d asked hesitantly, and at her sister’s nod, they’d somehow settled into a routine. When they were able, Arya would show Sansa what she’d learned from Syrio, trying to recall his words. It was good for both of them. Syrio’s words kept his memory alive for Arya, and she found that in teaching her sister, she herself improved as well.

When Margaery woke to them sparring one day, she demanded to learn as well, and suddenly their trio was not so defenseless any more. That was when Arya decided they had to go to The Wall. She’d long heard rumors of a band of women who took over the Castle Black. Before, she’d thought it sad when people said they came to fight because they had nothing else left. Now, she understood it was necessary. It was the only thing keeping her sane.

None of them had any idea how far or harsh the trek would be, but Sansa and Margaery had not argued. Instead, they began to plan for the long trip – something Arya had never been very good at. She was glad to have their strategy; with them dealing with logistics, she could focus on getting them there in one piece.

Arya learned many things about herself and the other two girls on their trek. Most of all, though, she found they were all strong. Though she’d always known Margaery to be strong-willed, Arya would have been lying to say she was surprised at her toughness now. Margaery played the court games with the best of them, but everyone – including Arya – had underestimated her true resolve. Arya decided that would not happen again, at least not on her part. 

_We are not men,_ she thought one day. _We will live, and we will remember what was taken._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She could only imagine what a sight they’d been when they finally arrived, countless weeks (maybe months? She didn’t know) later. Mud-splattered and exhausted, they looked upon the castle in more than a little wonder as they were met by the few women who resided there. 

Eowyn easily took Arya under her wing – not that she was a particularly soft mentor. If anything, she drove her harder than everyone else, and Arya threw herself into training without abandon. Sansa and Margaery started out a little more hesitantly – not by their own will. Their looks alone had the other women treating them carefully, until one day Sansa pinned one to the wall with her knives while Margaery grappled fiercely with another in the dirt. From then, there was no concern of old titles or propriety.

Their numbers grew as other stragglers also found The Wall. Kel showed up only a few days after they had, and she and Arya formed an immediate and easy friendship under Eowyn’s tutelage. Eowyn’s careful eye missed nothing, and when she saw Arya eyeing her own bow and arrow one day, she led her around back with a grin for target practice. 

Sansa began to split her days between training and learning about the castle itself. Arya watched as her sister asked thoughtful questions about its defenses and vulnerabilities, not missing the approving glances that passed between Eowyn and Brienne.

All Arya knew of Brienne was that she had once been a knight in her own right, serving Renly Baratheon until a mysterious event that caused his own death and left her on the run. She rarely spoke of it or how she’d ended up at The Wall, only saying here was where she intended to remain. 

Arya could never remember being surrounded by so many women and actually enjoying their company until now. She thrived on it, and along with her lessons, the days passed in a blur. But she never forgot her purpose. 

Every night, she whispered two sets of names to remind her why she was here. One was her list of people upon whom to exact vengeance. It was a long list. The other was much shorter – the names of those who she hoped to protect or keep safe. Though it was a foolish thought, the blue-eyed boy found his way onto her list also, despite not having a name. As her mind drifted in and out of sleep one night, Arya remembered with startling clarity the helm she’d seen resting in the corner of the back room where the trap door had been. So she settled on calling him the Bull, hoping he wasn’t already lying dead somewhere. 

One morning she awoke early to blood on the sheets, in her small clothes, and on her covers. She’d heard other women mention their monthlies, but only as passing jokes. Uncertainly, she knocked on her adjoining door as calmly as she could. After some grumbling, Eowyn opened the door and her eyes went wide. She led Arya to the small tub, instructing her to clean herself while she took care of the sheets, waving off Arya’s protests to help. 

After handing her long strips of cloth, Eowyn was about to leave when she saw Arya standing helplessly.

Sitting her gently back in the bathwater, she perched on the edge of the tub and asked, “Has anyone ever explained to you how to deal with this?”

Arya shook her head, embarrassed, but Eowyn raised her chin. “Do not be ashamed. We’ve all been through it.” 

Calmly, she explained how to use the extra cloth and clean any soiled clothing. All the while, her strong, calloused hands braided Arya’s hair, which had long since grown out. When Eowyn finished, Arya’s throat had become inexplicably tight, and for once she listened to her tired body, resting her head in the older woman’s lap. Eowyn was content to sit with her silently until the morning bell rang, and they went down to the practice yard without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There had been enough skirmishes between them and the Wildlings beyond their borders. The women often patrolled the surrounding land in small groups, inevitably running into Wildlings now and then. Though they did not fight to kill, the sisters would not hesitate to do so if necessary. Arya had found that out soon enough, and she was glad for it. There was no room for softness this far North.

When she had completed her training as a page, she had been allowed to go on her first patrol. Though she came back with scrapes and bruises from their fight, her blood was on fire, and she felt _alive._

Aside from the Wildlings, Arya had only ever heard tales of the cold ones - White Walkers, as they were known. Eowyn and Brienne had run into one once, and once was more than enough, they always said firmly.

Today, Arya and Kel were leading their own patrol outside the gates. They split into twos; each pair would scour a different area and report back to their starting point before sundown. Arya and Kel were overly careful, stopping to check anything that struck them as odd. These days, anything could be a trap; nobody knew who wandered these woods.

When Arya knelt to check a small animal trap, she was surprised to see it was a finely crafted thing, as if the maker had put just as much work into the trap as they would a coat of armor.

Then she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Not moving, she let her fingers wander over the trap while her eyes searched the area around her. Though she scanned the ground carefully, she couldn’t see any trace of another person (or thing). But the feeling stayed with her, and Arya had learned to trust her instinct. So she made a show of checking every part of the trap and the area around it until finally, she caught what was off. The shadow of a nearby brush was not as it ought to be, as if a large bulk was settled in the midst of it.

Somebody was watching her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for all the encouraging comments! the experiment continues...

Arya stayed where she was, letting her gaze remain on the trap in front of her while she thought quickly. She could get up and leave the way she’d come, as if she was unaware of the eyes on her. But the stubborn part of her wanted to know who was watching – and why they had done nothing else.

Standing slowly, she kept moving on her way as if to complete her patrol. Giving all appearance of wandering, Arya slowly but surely circled the way she’d come, stopping occasionally with the pretense of checking random animal tracks on the ground. Instead, she was looking at the direction of the dirt and snow, how they’d been casually brushed to carefully cover another set of tracks – footprints. 

They had been made recently and by a person quite larger than her, of that Arya was certain. With the care that had been taken to cover the tracks, she wondered that they hadn’t made a move against her already.

As she let her fingers brush against the ground, Arya glanced up through her eyelashes, trying to see any hint of movement in the brush before her. Whoever was hiding, they were good at it, though the snow was just a tad too neatly covered and the hiding place somewhat hastily chosen, as if in a rush. 

Though it hadn’t been obvious from her previous position, now Arya could just barely see a shock of black hair peeking through the brush. Quietly, she inched closer as her hand crept up her sleeve for her blade. 

A small animal darted before her, causing her to step back hastily. The crunch of her boots on the ground had the figure moving to stand, and Arya made a quick decision.

Drawing her dagger in a flash, she pressed the blade against the man’s neck firmly. Enough to know that she was serious, but not enough to draw blood. Still crouched, he went completely still, only raising his chin slightly in defiance. 

“I mean you no harm.” His deep, familiar voice sent a jolt through her, calling on old memories that she usually avoided in the daylight. 

_It couldn’t be._

But still, she hesitated.

He took advantage of her surprise to grab her wrist, twisting her arm so she dropped the knife. In the same second, he turned to look up at her, and suddenly Arya was back in the cellar, grasping his hand in thanks before he closed the door over her head.

“It _is_ you,” he breathed, a note of triumph in his voice.

Arya could only stare back at her Bull, his bright blue eyes in shock, ignoring the voices in her head that told her she had to move. Her skin was on fire where his hand grasped her arm, their positions reversed from the last time she’d seen him.

“Arya?”

Kel’s call came from somewhere behind her, and she whipped around, startled, before realizing she shouldn’t be so willing to turn her back. Spinning around again, she glared at him for … what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. He’d come out of her past and thrown her completely off balance, and she was baffled by her reaction.

Slowly, keeping his firm hold on her arm, he leaned down to grasp her blade. Arya tensed, only to look at him in surprise when he offered it to her hilt first, with a hint of a smile on his handsome face. Arya blinked, her face aflame for no reason, and took the dagger wordlessly, finally shrugging out of his grip.

“Stay there,” she hissed, and pushed him back down into the brush.

Turning again, she rounded the tree to meet Kel. 

“Everything alright?” Her friend questioned worriedly. 

“Fine.” Arya slipped on a sheepish grin. “I just got lost in tracking a wild boar. Thought we might be able to grab it for dinner.” 

Kel made a face. “Shame. That would have been good. Maybe next time.”

“Yeah, maybe. Ready to move on?”

“Yeah. You?”

Arya nodded, motioning for Kel to continue in one direction while she took the other. Chancing a glance back at the brush, she bit her lip but knew she couldn’t go back without raising suspicion. Her friend knew her too well, and it wouldn’t do to start lying now.

So she continued forward, though her mind was spinning all afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, Arya couldn’t take it any longer. Throwing on a heavy coat over her usual black clothes, she crept out of her room as quietly as she could, praying that Eowyn was fast asleep. Moving swiftly and silently down the corridors she’d come to know so well, she glanced around each corner for the sentries. Arya knew their patrols well enough to avoid the first two and hide before the third came into sight. Then she was out the side door and keeping in the shadow of the castle wall until finally, she made a run for the woods.

The temperature was cooler than she’d expected, and despite her heavy coat, Arya felt unusually cold. The thought made her stop for a moment, thinking of the stories she’d heard of the White Walkers, but as always her curiosity won out, and she pushed on.

The wind picked up, making the tree boughs creak and groan around her, and Arya practically _felt_ the forest trying to tell her to turn around. Just as she uncharacteristically tripped over another tree root, she heard the decidedly inhuman wail and her blood ran cold.

Frozen in place, she strained to hear another sound, trying to gauge the direction to move in. Now she could feel it, the sheer _wrongness_ in the air, and she cursed herself for being stupid. Taking a careful step back, and another, her eyes caught movement in the distance and she stopped again. Arya was not normally frightened easily, but this was different. She could feel it in her bones.

Suddenly a large hand closed over her mouth as a strong arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her back behind a massive oak. Arya struggled furiously until his urgent whisper made her limbs go slack.

“Please, stop fighting me.” Despite all her training, she relaxed at his low, familiar drawl – he would always be safe.

She nodded, and after a moment felt his hand move lower, resting against her neck. Absently, she wondered how someone could be so warm all the time this far North.

Then the figure she’d seen in the distance moved again, and they both froze. His breath was hot on her neck as they both peered around the tree trunk. The arm around her waist had tightened again, and now her own hand rested overtop, gripping his coat sleeve. 

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, both held in place by an unspoken wariness. The figure in the distance seemed to stand still for the longest time, until for reasons unknown to her, it began to move forward. 

“It’s hunting.” 

Arya nearly jumped out of her skin at his voice, so close to her ear. Ignoring his hastily covered chuckle, she focused on his words instead.

“For what?”

“Whatever it can find,” he replied, and she swallowed nervously.

Just as she was about to suggest they move, the cold one let out another sound again. Arya watched as it bent to something out of sight. Then the unmistakable sounds of feeding reached her ears and she felt sick.

The boy – no, he was a young man now – tapped her shoulder lightly before speaking. “We have to go.”

Arya turned, and he released her from his hold. _”We?”_

“Unless you want that one’s company,” he jerked his head behind her, “then yes, _we_ need to move. Now.”

He extended his hand, watching her with those patient blue eyes.

“At least tell me your name,” she requested, and his expression softened into something very pleasant.

“My name is Gendry.”

Gendry. It was a good name, she mused, and in the next second wanted to knock her head against the tree for even having the thought.

“Do you have a last name, Gendry?” It came out more sharply than she’d intended, though he didn’t seem to notice.

“Gendry Waters.”

 _Waters._ So he was a bastard. The thought didn’t bother Arya. If anything, it only endeared him to her further. Her favorite brother had been a bastard, too.

Gendry waited, his arm outstretched. “Please, Arya,” he said quietly, and her eyes widened in surprise at his use of her name.

Now that wasn’t fair at all. Arya chewed her bottom lip again, unaware that his eyes followed the action. She’d trusted him once, and he hadn’t led her astray. Though much had happened since, she had to believe she could do it again. Carefully, she placed her hand in his, feeling him squeeze her palm once as he smiled in thanks.

Then another wail pierced the night, and there was no more hesitating from either of them. They ran.


	5. Chapter 5

Arya was out of breath when she noticed the trees had thinned. She skidded to a stop, digging in her heels and yanking on their joined hands to make him - _Gendry_ \- stop as well.

He turned to her with a questioning look as her eyes darted around.

“I’ve never been past this point.”

Gendry followed her gaze, trying to understand what she saw. “How can you even tell? It’s pitch black.”

Arya chewed her lip, debating whether or not to tell him about the markings. No, that was a Watch secret. It wasn’t hers to tell. 

Instead, she simply said, “I know these woods. We don’t go this far north.”

Gendry looked at her for a long time, and she had the feeling that he could read her far better than she would like. But he only pursed his lips, and she saw it on his face when he decided not to argue. 

“Alright. Take me somewhere you know, then.”

Arya was taken aback by the trust in his voice. She couldn’t decide if it was stupid or sweet – perhaps both. Absently, she fingered her braid as she ran through the options quickly. Finally, she settled on the cave.

“There’s a shelter not too far from here. We usually only use it for overnight patrols, so it should be empty right now.”

To her surprise, Gendry’s face brightened in understanding. “We have those, too. Only, they’re much farther out.” 

He gestured forward. “Lead on.”

Arya nodded and began to walk, processing his earlier words. Belatedly, she realized she was still grasping his hand, and he’d made no attempt to let go. Her face warm, she dropped to the ground with the pretense of studying tracks, forcing their hands apart. After what she thought was enough time, she stood again and moved forward, missing the small grin on his face as he followed.

Soon enough, they came to the small cliff. Arya put out an arm to stop his forward movement, pointing to the narrow trail that led down the side. Starting down, she paused when she didn’t hear his footsteps behind her. Gendry was still standing where she’d left him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What is it?” She asked.

He blinked a few times, his face turning sheepish. “I don’t like heights.”

Arya’s mouth opened and closed multiple times before she managed to get a grip on her expression. But he saw and rolled his eyes. 

“Go ahead and laugh,” he muttered, and she inexplicably felt the need to pull him down to her and muss his hair. 

“I won’t laugh,” she said instead. “It’s just – you’re so tall,” she smiled so he would know she was teasing, and after a moment his shoulders seemed to relax slightly.

“Come on.” Arya grasped his hand before she could think twice and slowly pulled him alongside her. Carefully, they eased down the track as Arya groped blindly in the dark for the hollow she knew was there. Gendry’s grip had tightened immeasurably, and though he hadn’t made a sound, she did her best to squeeze back reassuringly.

She let out a breath as her free hand finally touched open space instead of a rock wall, and tugged him into the cave with her. He sat as far back from the edge as possible, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Quite the shelter,” he said weakly, and Arya’s mouth twitched despite everything.

“Where are your caves?” She inquired.

“Underground.”

Arya sat back, more than a little impressed.

They were silent until Gendry finally opened his eyes, studying her again.

“Why do you keep doing that?” She asked, genuinely curious, and his ears went red. It was sweet. Since when was a grown man allowed to be sweet?

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I just … I can’t believe it’s really you.”

“How can you even tell? The last time you saw me, we were …” Arya trailed off, looking away.

A gentle hand at her elbow made her look back up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and she nodded, unable to speak. His hand lingered at her elbow longer than necessary before retreating as he rubbed his neck.

“I was on my way back from the village when I first saw you,” he started, and Arya perked up curiously. “I’m not alone. You could probably tell that from my clothes. One of the men in my group still keeps up with some of the townspeople. We barter information and items.”

“So you’re a Wildling?”

He gave her a half-grin. “Something like that. I guess there’s no other name for us. Though we like to think of ourselves as a brotherhood, really.” His gaze was lost in thought for a moment.

“So you were coming back,” Arya prompted.

“Right. You were fighting, you and your group against a band of Wildlings. Not our men.” He shrugged. “To be honest, if not for your sword I might not have realized it was you.” 

Arya touched Needle’s hilt at her waist. “You recognized Needle?” 

She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice, but he only grinned. “I’m a smith. Practically grew up in the forge. I know good steel when I see it. Plus, a girl dressed like a boy waving around a castle-forged sword is hard to forget.”

Arya stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. It was a nice laugh, one that she wanted to hear again.

“That’s a good name, Needle,” Gendry added, and she gave him a true smile.

“Every sword needs a name,” she said, fondly remembering Jon’s words. 

“Aye, that’s true.” He continued with his story. “Anyways, your Needle made me look more closely. I hid nearby and waited, to see if I was right.” He looked at her sheepishly. “I would have helped, but it looked like you were all doing perfectly fine. Plus, I didn’t think I’d have time to explain myself before one of you cut me down.” 

“I would have recognized you,” she protested, and his face lit up like a beacon. Why the hell did his eyes have to be so damn blue?

“But if someone else had seen you first, then you’re probably right,” she added. Looking at him closely, she asked, “So you know who I am, then?”

“Of course. You’re Arya.”

Though his simple declaration warmed her to no end, she pushed further. “Do you know my last name?”

His gaze became confused. “No, but why should that matter?”

She looked at him uncertainly before deciding he at least deserved this truth. “My name is Arya of House Stark.”

Gendry sucked in a breath, his face troubled. “Then … that was your father they killed?” 

Arya nodded, eyes downcast until his fingers grazed her cheek softly, and then her eyes closed completely for a moment. When she did raise her head finally, he was watching her with sympathy but no trace of the pity she so despised. 

Eventually he spoke again, his voice lighter this time. “So you’re a highborn then, you’re a lady?”

“I am no lady,” she snapped, and his mouth twitched.

“Now that’s not entirely true,” he murmured, his eyes growing a shade darker, and Arya thought her flush might extend all the way to her toes if she checked.

“Arya of House Stark,” Gendry repeated, and it felt good to have her name back. “And now of the Night’s Watch,” he amended with a grin.

Arya inclined her head in agreement. Trying to distract herself from the odd feelings, she decided to ask her own questions. “What about you, then? How did Gendry Waters come this far north?”

His face clouded as soon as the words left her mouth, and she nearly took them back. But then he began speaking, and she couldn’t help but be caught up by his words.

“The soldiers came in right as you left. My master Tobho, though, he wouldn’t let them lay a hand on me until they spoke with him. He told them you and your sister went out the back, and that he’d take care of my punishment. I thought it would be enough for them, but one of the Goldcloaks recognized me as the bastard they’d been after. So they tossed me in the dungeons. I’m not sure what they had planned … because that was when the Red Priestess arrived.”

Gendry looked away, his jaw tight, and Arya placed her hand overtop his.

“She said she’d help me escape, tell me who my real father was. Said I’d never have to serve another master again. I don’t know why I trusted her. I just wanted something to believe in, so much that it blinded me. Turned out she was working with Stannis Baratheon, and all they wanted was my blood.”

He didn’t volunteer details, and Arya didn’t ask.

“A good man helped me escape, and I’ve been running ever since.” Now his blue eyes finally met hers. “I met a few other men like myself when I got further north. We managed to create something of a living here, without all the games of nobles. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.”

Arya nodded. “I understand,” she said honestly, thinking of the Watch.

Gendry’s blue eyes gazed at her steadily, and his fingers came up to brush along her braid. There was a faint smile on his face. “I was rooting for you, m’lady.”

“Do not call me m’lady,” Arya warned, and his face split into another grin. He liked smiling, this odd smith-turned-Wildling.

“As m’lady commands,” he bowed his head and Arya smacked him, sending him to the floor with a laugh that echoed off the rock walls.

“Stupid,” she hissed, and he only laughed harder.

“I’ll leave you up here,” she threatened, and his eyes widened as he fought to control his breathing. He held up his hands in surrender.

“I apologize, Arya,” he said, and she huffed but stayed seated.

They both stared out at the dark night before Gendry broke the silence. “How much longer do you have?”

“I need to be back before daybreak, or others will notice. If they haven’t already.”

“So that gives us a little more time, then?”

“A little.”

“May I see your sword?” He requested. 

Arya hesitated for only a moment before sliding Needle out of its sheath. Gendry took it from her carefully, handling the blade with a firm hand. As he examined it, another thought hit her.

“Did you make those traps that I saw in the woods?” He nodded. “They’re well-done,” she said truthfully, and he grinned. 

“Sometimes when I go into the village, the smith lets me use the forge for an hour or two. To make what we need and take it back,” he explained. “In return, we bring back skins we don’t use from what we catch.”

She was impressed, though she tried not to let it show too much. It wouldn’t do for him to have an ego. Still, the trading was a damn good idea. They were always running out of supplies in the castle.

“This is good work,” Gendry remarked, and Arya smiled, pleased.

“My favorite brother had it made for me.”

“Oh? Where is he now?”

She shrugged, looking away. “Nobody’s heard from him since he got sent North a few years ago.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jon.”

“Jon what?” Finally Arya noticed the wariness in his voice and looked up to meet his wide eyes.

“Jon Snow.” She didn’t know why she was whispering.

Recognition dawned on Gendry’s face, and he stared at her in disbelief. Suddenly Arya was leaning closer, desperate for information.

“What is it? What do you know?” 

He swallowed, then handed back Needle before meeting her eyes. “I know where he is.”

Arya’s ears were ringing as she stared at him open-mouthed. “He’s alive?”

“Very much so.”

“Does he … is he part of your brotherhood?”

Gendry nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder in earnest. “I would have said something sooner, if I’d known. But he never gave us any hint of it … I’ve only ever known him as Jon Snow. We don’t generally like to discuss our past.”

Arya’s head was spinning. Her brother, her _favorite_ brother, had been so close by all this time. She couldn’t believe it. Suddenly the weight of everything was pressing down on her, and she closed her eyes against it all.

“Hey,” Gendry’s voice was soft as he curled his arm about her shoulder, drawing her close, and she let him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “It’s just a lot to take in one sitting.”

Gendry said nothing, simply tightening his grip as his thumb traced patterns on her arm. Arya distractedly questioned why she was so easily comforted by him, wondering if it was a sign of weakness. But even though he gave her every chance to move, she didn't.

“You should try to sleep," he said eventually.

“I have to go soon.”

“Not _that_ soon. Besides, it won’t do if you fall over from exhaustion on the way back.” 

“You clearly don’t know me very well.”

“Not yet,” he responded, and she just _knew_ he was grinning. 

Still, he was warm and solid and her eyelids were drooping for the first time in ages, and Arya was tired of fighting. So she let her head drop against his shoulder with a final warning.

“If you don’t wake me in time, I’ll skewer you.” 

His voice was filled with barely concealed laughter. “Noted.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for the comments and patience! :)

It was still dark when Arya woke, blinking groggily and wondering when her bed had become so comfortable. Then she breathed in the smell of leather and pine, a decidedly un-castle smell, and the events of the past few hours came rushing back.

Surprised, annoyed (with herself), and more than a little scared, Arya pushed back, scrambling away from Gendry. Her movements woke him also, though he looked too wide awake to have been asleep for long. 

“What is it?”

His question hung in the air long after he spoke as Arya tried to gather her thoughts. What was she doing? She’d left the castle, her sisters, for what, exactly? Some boy from her past? She would not be that girl. She knew better. A small voice tried to remind her that he wasn’t just _any_ boy, but she ignored it. Angry with herself for letting her guard down so easily, she knew she had to get back to the castle before she lost all her wits entirely.

“I need to go back.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“What about your brother?”

Arya hesitated before shaking her head. “You can tell him we met. He’ll find me.” 

“Arya-“

“I have to go,” she cut him off sharply and stood. “Unless you want to climb back up alone, that means you’ll have to move also.”

Gendry’s blue eyes bore into her with concern, but he rose anyways. When she made for the mouth of the cave, she felt his uncertainty before he spoke.

“How can you see so well in the dark?”

She opened her mouth to retort, then decided to answer truthfully. “We train for all situations. You never know what can happen.”

As she eased out onto the ledge, she felt his hand grasp her elbow gently. Her first instinct was to pull away, but her mind flashed to the look on his face hours earlier when he’d seen the cliff, and she let him hold onto her. The only sound was his heavy breathing as they made their way slowly up the trail, and Arya didn’t miss how his grip tightened along the way. 

Finally, they reached the top and Gendry let go with a sigh of relief. She folded her arms in front of her as they stood awkwardly for a moment. Then Gendry stepped closer, and Arya dug in her heels so she wouldn’t turn and run.

“You’ll be alright getting back?”

“I’m not useless, you know,” she replied sharply, and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

“I know.”

Arya looked away, chewing her bottom lip. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” she mumbled after a moment, and his face brightened immensely. 

This was no good. She was losing herself again and it was all his fault. Arya stepped back determinedly. When he didn’t follow, she took another step, and another, until she was nearly hidden in the trees. He still stood there, just watching her.

“Stupid,” she hissed. “Go.” 

Gendry raised a hand in farewell and headed off at an angle, and despite herself Arya waited until he was out of sight before she moved on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her return to Castle Black was swift and without worry. But she knew there would be no more rest for her this night. Instead, Arya headed for the practice yard, for the one thing that could calm her mind. Grabbing the practice quiver and arrows, she fired shot after shot at the target, disgruntled when she saw a few go astray.

Marching over to the target, she removed the arrows and began again, willing her mind and body to focus on only this one thing until all her arrows hit the center. Satisfied, she let her arms drop from the stance and turned, only to see Ygritte sitting on the fence.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” The flame-haired girl watched her knowingly. “You know, I can count on one hand all the times I’ve seen you miss.”

Arya didn’t reply.

“It’s alright,” Ygritte gave her a small grin. “You’re allowed. So what’s the matter?”

When Arya only shrugged, Ygritte raised an eyebrow. “Come on. It’s just me.”

“I just…” Arya began, then stopped. “I just have too many thoughts, and I don’t know what to do with all of them,” she said finally.

“That why you went into the woods tonight?” 

Arya looked up, startled.

“I won’t tell,” her friend assured her. “I get it.”

“You do?”

Ygritte gave her a sad smile. “Sometimes it can get a bit suffocating in there,” she nodded back at the castle. “All those huge walls and closed rooms. Nothing like the fresh air and freedom, right?”

Arya nodded hesitantly. While it wasn't entirely the truth, it wasn't as if she had another excuse. Something in Ygritte’s voice made her step closer, though, as if the words had been her secret truth.

“You know, I used to be one of them.” At Arya’s questioning glance, she clarified, “A Wildling.” Arya was stunned into silence. Like most of the women who arrived at the wall, Ygritte didn’t often speak of her past, usually preferring to focus on the present. But now, Arya couldn’t help her curiosity all the same.

“It was a long time ago. Before they changed … became something I didn’t want to be a part of anymore.” Ygritte looked at Arya sadly. “We used to be good to each other. We were a family. No walls, no rules. Just land as far as you could see, and all ours.”

Her voice was wistful, and Arya could feel her longing as deeply as she mourned her own family. 

“Then the Walkers came in the night, taking our own from us one at a time.” Ygritte’s face hardened to stone. “They were hardly ever seen, but I knew it was them. Tribes, though, they began accusing each other of horrible deeds, and the fighting began. My own clan was wiped out while I was off on a hunt. I never found out who … or what …” 

When she trailed off, Arya reached out to grasp her hand tightly, and Ygritte squeezed back before continuing quietly. “We’d all heard the stories. A band of women training at the Castle Black, defending themselves from the rest of the world. I never thought I would want to leave the free land … but it wasn’t free anymore, and all I had was gone. That’s why I came here.”

She sniffed once, then shook her head, and Arya almost told her everything right then. Still, something made her hold back at the last moment. She wasn’t quite ready to have her own secrets aired, just as she knew Ygritte had only told her part of the story.

“It’s harder to leave things in the past than I expected,” she said instead, and Ygritte nodded.

When she spoke again, her voice was back to normal.

“I understand if you need to escape now and then. Or if you don’t feel like yourself some days. It’ll be our secret.” She hopped down from the fence abruptly, moving to a small chest in the corner of the practice yard.

“Let’s see how you do with moving targets, shall we?”

That was how Eowyn found them in the early morning light, trading places as they took turns with target practice. Ygritte waved cheerily, explaining how she and Arya had been restless and begun training earlier than usual. Though the older woman said nothing, Arya wasn’t a fool. Eowyn knew as well as she did that she hadn’t been in her room all night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the days passed, Arya struggled with how to broach the topic with her sister. Jon wasn’t the issue. No, Sansa would be happy to learn that their brother lived. They didn’t have so much family left that they could be picky. It was how exactly she’d come across the information that had Arya in knots. Telling her about Jon would mean telling her about sneaking out of the castle, which would inevitably lead to Gendry.

Gendry.

The mere thought of him still brought heat to her face and threw her off-balance like no other. She hated it. How was she to even speak of him without tripping over herself? Her sister would see right through her, though what she would find was anyone’s guess. Arya didn’t know herself.

As with everything else, when her mind ran in circles, she turned to her training for comfort. Here, things were black and white, wrong and right, not muddled with shades of grey. She still tossed and turned at night, eventually giving up on sleep to sharpen her mind with the strategy documents Eowyn had given her. 

Then one day the horn sounded out, and Arya could think on it no longer. Running up the steps to the ramparts, she was met with the sight of a lone figure standing outside the castle door, arms held up in surrender at the arrows pointing at him.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she felt tears blur her vision.

“Stop!” 

Her yell echoed in the air as heads swiveled in her direction. “Lower your weapons!” Arya dashed down the steps, still calling for the women to stop pointing their arrows at him. As she passed one row of trainees still with arrows up, she heard the archery trainer snap at them.

“You heard her. Bows down, _now_.” 

Arya threw Susan a grateful smile as she ran by. Just a few more steps and she was unlatching the door. Then a large hand covered hers, and she turned to face Brienne.

“Lady Arya.” Brienne always insisted on calling her that, despite her protests. “I will only ask once. Are you certain?”

“I am. Please, trust me.”

Brienne nodded once and helped her remove the huge deadbolt, cracking the door open enough for Arya to slip out. Then she was flying across the snow and tackling the figure onto the ground, feeling him grasp her back tightly enough to bruise. She felt his tears wet her neck as her own soaked into his collar, but they were both laughing out of sheer joy and wonder.

_Jon._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your patience with this story! I'm in the midst of moving and getting my life (and internet) back, so I appreciate it :)) meanwhile, hope you enjoy this.

Arya wasn’t sure how long she and Jon lay on the ground, simply clutching each other to prove to themselves that they weren’t dreaming. When she finally leaned back, her face was hurting from smiling so much. He looked quite the same, his dark grey eyes roaming over her face in sheer wonder.

She stood and held out a hand, pulling him up with her. Jon grasped her shoulders, placing a kiss on her forehead and making her feel like a child once more.

“Jon?”

The quiet voice came from behind them, and Arya turned to see her sister standing hesitantly a few feet away. She hadn’t seen Sansa this uncertain in a long time. Looking back at Jon, she saw the same insecurity on his face before he bowed, low and deep.

The action seemed to startle Sansa from her thoughts, and now she moved forward quickly. 

“No,” she said firmly, clasping his shoulders and pulling him up to face her. A shaky smile crossed her face before she put her arms around him. Arya saw her brother stiffen in surprise before his trembling hands came up to hold her tightly, and her throat closed. 

When they parted, Sansa took a few steps back, and Arya saw her regain the poise of her role as leader. 

“How did you find us?” Her sister inquired, and Arya’s head snapped up to look at Jon. Pleadingly, she shook her head as briefly as she could, hoping he wouldn’t divulge anything about Gendry.

After a moment of studying her, Jon turned back to Sansa. “We heard stories of a group of women training at the Castle Black. A few of the men have seen you, on their travels …” He cleared his throat. “Some brought back descriptions I couldn’t ignore, and I wanted to know for myself if it was true.”

Arya chanced a peek at Sansa. Her sister seemed satisfied by the response, for the moment. She was about to let out a breath when Jon continued.

“You should know, I didn’t come alone.”

Arya’s heart leapt into her throat as she looked at Jon again, then past him for confirmation. He turned as well, motioning to the woods, and after a minute the men emerged.

Out of habit, Arya took several steps back to stand with Sansa, who was already reaching up her sleeve for her blades as Arya notched her bow. She heard the click of the archers on the wall doing the same, the air itself seeming to chill in the span of seconds. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she didn’t need to look to feel Eowyn at her elbow, Brienne towering behind Sansa, their blades unsheathed and glinting in the sun.

The approaching men stopped abruptly, though Arya noted the idiot with dark hair and blue eyes ventured further than the rest in slight challenge before finally coming to a standstill. Jon turned back to them, his eyes widening in alarm when he saw what had happened. Holding both hands up in peace, he took a step forward only to halt again when Eowyn and Brienne moved forward. Arya’s hands were shaking, but she kept her bow trained on Jon, knowing that was all that stopped the other men from moving forward.

“We mean you no harm,” Jon said gently.

“We’ve heard that before,” Eowyn replied, her voice hard.

Jon’s eyes traveled past her to Arya, pleading silently. Torn between her families, old and new, Arya stood frozen as her mind scrambled for some action to take.

But it wasn’t her who broke the standstill. 

_“Jon Snow?!”_

The voice cut through the air with more fury, disbelief, betrayal and sadness than Arya had ever heard at once, and her head whipped around to see Ygritte marching from the yard across from them. Her flame-colored hair flew wildly around her face, her hands clenched and yet somehow free of weapons. Arya’s eyes flew to Jon. His skin had drained of all color as he stared in shock, and she wondered if he was even more surprised than he had been moments ago.

Ygritte’s hand connected with his jaw in a slap that cracked through the air. A knee to his ribs and another backhand followed, sending him to the ground, and Arya nearly dropped her bow in surprise that he didn’t resist. Just as she would have moved, a strong arm around her waist held her back.

“This is between them,” Eowyn said quietly.

Ygritte stood over him, so many emotions flashing over her face that Arya wondered which one was true. Maybe they all were. 

Her voice was cold with barely contained rage when she spoke. “I should strike you dead on the spot, Jon Snow. But seeing as you share the blood of the women I call my own sisters, I won’t.” Ygritte spat by his feet. “Yet.”

Then she spun on her heel and took off in the direction of the castle, but Arya didn’t miss the glimmer of tears in her eyes as she passed them. Turning back to Jon, she took a small step forward.

“Are you alright?” She called.

At first, he seemed to not hear her, his eyes glued to Ygritte’s retreating figure. Gingerly, he got to his feet and looked at Arya with a sad smile.

“I’m fine.” He gestured to the castle. “So is this how it’s going to be, then?”

Arya shrugged, the only apology she could form at the moment. “Can you blame us?”

Her brother shook his head, a wry grin crossing his face briefly. “I suppose not.” 

Then Sansa was standing next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder, one hand raised to keep Brienne and Eowyn’s swords lowered. Jon didn’t miss the motion, his face clearing with pride as he noted how others followed Sansa’s lead.

“It’s not that we don’t want you here,” Sansa told him. “But there has not been a man inside Castle Black for a long time. With good reason.” She paused, glancing at Arya once. “Despite our personal feelings, we cannot break that rule now.”

Jon nodded. “I understand. Would you allow us to at least camp nearby? So that I may visit with you and Arya?”

“Do all of your men need to remain?” Arya blurted out the question before she could stop herself.

Though Jon looked at her in amusement, he answered seriously. “If it’s not a problem. We try to stick together as much as possible.”

Arya nodded, keeping her face impassive while she kicked herself internally. She didn’t need to draw more attention to her already scrambled thoughts.

Sansa, as always, answered smoothly. “I cannot answer without conferring with the others.”

“We’ll wait,” came Jon’s reply, and she nodded once. 

“Very well. There will be guards on the wall. You understand.” With that, she turned and headed back for the castle. After a final smile at Jon, Arya turned and fell into step behind her sister, feeling Brienne and Eowyn close in next to her.

When they’d passed through the heavy doors again, Arya turned once to peek back. A figure had come to stand beside Jon, conversing with him quietly, and she felt her mood blacken again as the confusion resurfaced. Even from here she could see his thick black hair ruffled by the breeze as he nodded at something Jon said. Then his face turned towards the castle, piercing blue eyes finding her instantly, and Arya hastened to shut the large door. The last thing she saw was his growing smile before the bolt locked into place. She rested her forehead against the wood, letting out a breath as unfamiliar feelings swirled inside her.

When she finally turned, she noticed the others hadn’t moved much further, instead waiting patiently for her to rejoin them. The other women, including Susan, had ventured down as well to hear the discussion. Most of them thought she was just dealing with seeing her brother again, and Arya was fine to let them think so. But one look at Sansa and she knew her sister wasn’t fooled.

It was Susan who finally spoke. “What now?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the incredibly slow pace/posting of this story. I'm still trying to figure out when to go and trying to write when inspired, so that it doesn't come out forced. Thanks to all who are still interested and reading :)

Arya remained by the door, letting Sansa take the lead as she always did. 

“The man out there is our brother,” she confirmed to the rest of the women. “He asks if he and his men can camp nearby, so that we may visit with him.”

“How do we know they can all be trusted?” Eowyn inquired. “I understand he is your blood. But the others are not.”

“How many more are there?” Another woman called out.

Brienne answered before anyone else. “I counted at least ten others by the woods.” 

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” 

All the heads turned towards Ygritte, who was leaning against a wall in the corner. Her expression was defiant.

“What if he was sent on purpose, to draw us out? How do we know he speaks the truth?”

Arya’s mouth opened automatically to defend her brother, but Sansa got there first. “Ygritte, whatever your history is with Jon, we’ve never known him to be anything but loyal to his family. He wouldn’t jeopardize us, I am sure of it. I know I speak for Arya as well.”

Ygritte’s face had hardened, but when she looked at Arya, the sadness in her eyes was apparent. Arya didn’t speak, trying to understand what could have happened to cause such a strong reaction in her. 

Then she remembered the story Ygritte had told her many nights ago, when she’d returned from the woods. She used to have her own family, until they were killed. The only possible explanation for her anger was that she somehow thought Jon to have some part in that.

It couldn’t be. She knew that as certainly as she knew herself, but there had to be more to this that they weren’t seeing. 

Arya shook her head. Now was not the time for that. But later, she would find Ygritte and hear all of it for herself.

“Does anyone have any other objections or concerns?” Sansa directed her question at the rest of the women, who shifted and mumbled quietly for a moment.

“Could we set a perimeter?” It was Susan. “Maybe we could mandate a certain distance from the castle, to ensure nobody gets too close without reason. And we could designate a meeting place, visible to both of us. You two shouldn’t have to venture far into their camp.”

Arya nodded. “I agree. Susan’s plan is logical. They should remain at a distance until we know how long they mean to stay.”

“What if they don’t leave?” Eowyn was looking at Arya, who found herself unable to come up with an answer.

“We won’t agree otherwise. They _will_ leave, or we will make them,” Sansa replied firmly. “He knows where we are, now. There’s no reason he can’t send messages or arrange meetings at a later time.”

Though Arya felt hollow at the thought of having to see Jon leave again, she kept silent. Everyone was on edge enough as it was. She didn’t need to cause more problems.

“We’ll put it to a vote. Arya and I will refrain from taking part, since we would be biased,” Sansa declared. “I’ll give you all a few minutes to discuss.”

With that, Sansa came to stand by Arya, letting the others gather to converse. 

“Are you alright?” She whispered.

“Fine. Why?”

“You look like you’re going to be ill any moment. What’s wrong, Arya?”

Spilling everything to Sansa at this moment would have been too much. So she settled for a variation of the truth.

“I think I recognized one of the other men,” she said as quietly as possible.

Sansa’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “What?”

Arya let her head thud back against the oak door. “I can’t be sure, but one of them looked familiar.” 

“Where have you seen him before?”

“ _We_ saw him. Remember the boy who helped us escape King’s Landing? The trap door in the forge?”

Her sister’s eyes widened briefly, but she shook her head. “Arya, that’s ridiculous. How could he have ended up this far North?”

“We did, didn’t we?”

“There were soldiers about to break down his door, Arya,” Sansa said it gently, trying to convince her. If Arya hadn’t already seen him up close, she might have been swayed. 

“Well, regardless. It just threw me off. I wasn’t expecting it.” She nodded at the others. “I think they’re ready.” 

Sansa straightened and glanced over. Margaery stepped forward, smiling reassuringly at them both. “We’re ready to take a vote.”

Taking a deep breath, Sansa nodded. “All those in favor?” 

Most of the hands went up - to Arya’s immense surprise, Eowyn’s was one of them. 

“All those who object?”

A smattering of hands were raised, Ygritte’s firmly among them.

“Then it’s decided. The men will stay. Have you decided on the conditions?”

Susan spoke up. “We think thirty feet from the castle is an acceptable distance. If they come further, they should have a reason ready, or we will shoot.”

“Fair enough. What else?” 

“Any meetings with them can occur at the halfway point between the castle and their camp,” Eowyn said. “So that everyone can see.” 

“Alright. Is there a preference for how long they may stay?” When nobody replied, Sansa continued. “I propose a two-week period. No longer. They can leave earlier if they so wish. Is that acceptable?” 

“We would not wish to take more time from your reunion, Lady Sansa.” Brienne’s voice was soft, but resolute. “Go tell your brother he may stay a while longer.” 

Sansa smiled. “Thank you. Thank you all. I understand your sacrifices, and I am grateful. We both are.” Smoothing her skirts - a subconscious, familiar gesture that always made Arya grin - she motioned to the others. “Back to your positions, please. Brienne, Eowyn, if you would come with us.” 

The two women nodded, and once the archers were back along the wall, they opened the doors and headed into the bright sunlight once more.

Arya’s eyes immediately fell upon Jon, who was conversing quietly with Gendry. They seemed far too friendly for her liking. At the sound of the doors, Jon looked up expectantly as Gendry fell back a few steps. To Arya’s dismay, he remained much closer than before.

Jon waited patiently as they approached. “So you’ve come to a decision?”

Arya nodded, expecting Sansa to speak up. But when she looked up, her sister’s eyes were focused behind Jon. 

“By the gods,” she breathed, and Arya knew she had recognized Gendry. “It really _is_ you.”

Jon turned to look at Gendry also, who bowed low and deep. Idiot.

When he straightened, Jon motioned him closer, and now they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of Arya and Sansa.

“It is you,” Sansa repeated. “Isn’t it? The boy from the forge who helped us escape?”

His eyes fell on Arya slightly longer than they should have before he nodded at Sansa. “Yes.”

“How did you come to be this far North?”

Gendry’s smile was equal parts sheepish and frustrated. “It’s a long story. Not one I’m particularly proud of.”

Jon clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s in the past. He’s here now, as we all are,” he said pointedly, and Sansa shook her head.

“Yes, of course. I apologize. We took a vote and decided you and your men may stay. But we have some conditions.”

Jon’s face brightened. “Of course. Continue.”

As Sansa explained the terms, Arya did her best to keep her eyes solely on Jon, refusing to be distracted by the bright blue pair of eyes that seemed to be burning a hole right into her. Eowyn certainly wouldn’t miss that. Despite herself, she found her gaze pulled away from Jon and onto Gendry, who gave her the briefest of smiles. It wasn’t teasing or amused. It was only open and kind, and stupidly, she smiled back.

Then she realized there was silence, as the others looked at her. Arya cursed herself, and the stupid bull. “Sorry. What?”

Sansa was eyeing her with a mixture of concern and amusement. “I asked if I covered all the terms?” 

“Oh. Yes, very well,” Arya nodded, even though she hadn’t been listening. Her sister was thorough to a point, that was certain enough.

Jon grinned. “Wonderful. Then it’s settled. We’ll set up nearby, as you requested. And perhaps I can see you for dinner?”

Arya nodded happily. “I’ll be there.” She couldn’t help but reach out again, and Jon didn’t hesitate to pull her in for another tight hug. Gods, she had missed him. 

After a minute, she pulled away reluctantly, waving before she began to head back with the others. Gendry was watching her with a soft smile, and she ignored the irritating flip of her stomach as she turned away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, the knock at their adjoining door didn’t surprise Arya.

“Come in,” she called from her cot. Eowyn opened the door and came to sit by her. 

“Quite a day,” she commented.

Arya wasn’t fooled, but she played along. “Yes, it was very unexpected. In a good way.”

“Was it? In a good way?” Her teacher inquired, and Arya knew she hadn’t missed the stupid bull’s glances.

“It was,” Arya insisted. “I never thought I’d see Jon again.”

“And the other young man? Did you ever wonder if you’d meet him again?” 

Arya flushed, and she knew that was answer enough.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve met,” Eowyn said quietly.

Though it was useless, Arya tried to deflect anyways. “You heard Sansa. He helped us when we were younger.”

Her friend and instructor only raised an eyebrow at her, as if asking her why she was even bothering. Arya rolled her eyes, trying to mask her own growing nervousness. Why _was_ she lying to Eowyn?

“You’re right,” she mumbled finally. “I did see him before today. Though it wasn’t intentional, at first. He’s been with Jon’s band of men a while now. Apparently he spotted me on a few travels from the village - though I’m not sure he wanted me to know. A while back I was on a patrol with Kel and … ran into him.”

Now she looked at Eowyn, hoping she’d understand. “I didn’t intend to find him again. But all these years I’ve wondered if he survived, and now I know he has and he’s somehow right here.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Arya shrugged. “What was I to say? I don’t even know what to feel. If I hadn’t gone after him, I never would have found Jon.”

“But weren’t seeking out your brother when you decided to find Gendry again,” Eowyn pointed out. 

She couldn’t argue with that. So she sat silently on her bed, twisting a loose strand of hair absently as she waited for her teacher to berate her. But she didn’t anticipate her next words at all.

“He cares for you.” 

Arya’s head snapped up to meet Eowyn’s knowing gaze. “How do you know?” She couldn’t help but ask. 

“He swallows you with his eyes.” Though she said it simply, Arya’s cheeks still burned.

“Is that supposed to be good or bad?” 

Eowyn was quiet as she brushed hair from her face. “Both, perhaps.” 

Arya put her head in her hands, frustrated with herself and this new, unfamiliar situation. Eowyn was silent, only turning her to face the wall as she began to braid her hair, as if knowing it would make her shoulders droop and release the tension she’d carried all day.

“You don’t like that they’re here.” Arya kept her voice as flat as possible.

The older woman’s hands paused only momentarily on her hair. “I never said that.”

Arya turned to face her. “Then what _do_ you think? You haven’t said much of anything all day.”

Eowyn sighed. “I suppose I’m just as confused as you are.”

“I doubt that,” Arya replied dryly, and her friend laughed.

“Alright. Maybe not as much as you are,” she amended. “But I am still confused.”

“About what?”

“How you’re feeling about this whole thing. You’ve been in knots all day. I suppose i’ve been trying to figure out what you want, so that I could help.”

Arya sighed and rested her head on the older woman’s shoulder. “I wish I knew what I wanted.” 

“I know.”

“So why did you vote in agreement, then?” 

“Because you wanted Jon to stay, and this was the only way he would agree.” Eowyn paused. “Plus, Ygritte is causing enough of a disturbance.”

Arya pursed her lips in thought. “She is. But she wouldn’t be doing so unless it she believed it was warranted.”

“I agree,” came Eowyn’s solemn reply.

They sat for a while longer, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Then Arya decided to push her luck.

“So does this mean you’re not angry with me?” She asked.

Eowyn smiled. “Angry, no.” Her face became more serious. “A little hurt, though, that you couldn’t confide in me earlier.”

“I know. I’m sorry for that. I’m still so unsure of others, even after everything.”

“Maybe because of everything,” Eowyn replied gently, and Arya hugged her close. Somehow, they had always understood each other, and Arya promised herself not to take it for granted. Friends like Eowyn were rare in their world.

The older woman held her tightly before letting go. “Alright. Tonight you get to go double the rounds, once with me and once with Brienne. That is, after you help the pages with the evening meal.”

Arya’s mouth dropped open. “You said you weren’t mad!”

“And I’m not,” Eowyn reassured. Then she added cheekily, “But what kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t make a lesson out of this? Besides, don’t you want to cook for your brother?”

A pillow flew by her head as she finished her sentence, and she ducked, laughing. Arya tossed another at her as she escaped out the door, calling, “They’re expecting you in a half hour!”

With a grin, Arya flopped back on her bed. She would help the pages as instructed, and duel both Eowyn and Brienne. The latter part would be fun. Knowing that Eowyn was on her side (whatever side that was) made her feel better than she had all afternoon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more robust update, I think :3 I hope to keep up with this story better from now on. thanks to all who are still reading, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Dinner with Jon had gone by too quickly. Both she and Sansa had ventured to the camp, surprised to see the men were well-equipped and properly set up already. But their meal was a quiet affair, with only Jon. None of them would mention much about the past, instead choosing to keep to safer topics. Jon studiously avoided talking about Ygritte, and Arya let him. She had a feeling everyone's secrets would come out soon enough. But for now, she could enjoy Jon’s glowing pride as Sansa talked of the Watch. He was both impressed and pleased. 

Arya had been surprised that nobody else tried to peek in on their conversation – namely, Gendry. Towards the end, Jon caught her looking around once too often.

“Looking for someone?” His eyes were dancing in amusement.

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “I’m waiting for one of your men to pop in and report back to the others.”

Jon chuckled and ruffled her hair. “I told them it was only to be the three of us. They understood. They’re not all bad, you know.”

“We know,” Sansa reassured him. “It’s just our nature to be cautious. But we trust you.”

_Only you._ That was the implication, and Jon knew it. Still, he only smiled again in thanks. When she and Sansa rose to leave, he requested Arya to come back after breakfast. “I want to see what you and your Needle have been up to.”

Arya grinned. “With pleasure. I’ll bring Kel and a few others, too, if that’s alright.”

“The more the merrier.”

Now she was lying awake again in bed, restless from the events of the day. She couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or surprised that the Bull had followed Jon’s instructions to a tee. There had been no glimpse of him as they left the camp.

Her thoughts always seemed to circle back to him, and it was making her crazy. Arya huffed and turned on her side, hoping a good fight with Jon the next day would clear her head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kel fit in perfectly well with the men, as Arya had suspected she might. She laughed easily and strategized well, not to mention she had a tongue nearly as sharp as her sword. Arya could already tell the others had taken to her. One of the men in particular was quite captivated.

“Who’s that?” She asked Jon.

“Which one?”

“Black hair, blue eyes. Black band around his arm.”

“Oh, that’s Dom. He used to be a sergeant, where he came from. They certainly are getting along well, aren’t they?”

Arya hummed in agreement, following Jon to a small, open glade shielded by the tall trees. Her older brother unsheathed his sword with a grin. “Alright. Show me what you’ve got.”

Raising an eyebrow, Arya took her time getting ready – scuffing the ground with her boots, slowly drawing Needle out, examining the sharp tip of the blade.

“Are you done?” Jon stood impatiently at the ready.

“Oh, sorry, are you waiting for me?” Arya’s smile turned wicked. “I didn’t know you were ready.”

Jon stared, then threw his head back for a boisterous laugh. “How I’ve missed you,” he said, and lunged. 

Needle was up and out to deflect his blow, which wasn’t nearly as strong as Arya was expecting. He was holding back. Well, that would end soon enough. Pushing back against him, she drove him back before he managed to find his footing. When his leg came up, she danced out of his reach, spinning inside to tap a blow to his thigh with the flat of her blade. His knee crumpled for a moment before he regained his balance, turning to face her. Now Jon came at her again, sword up and swinging properly this time as he attacked. Their blades clashed, and Arya grinned as the shock traveled up her arm. That was much better.

They fought for the better part of an hour – sometimes sweating with exertion and other times just playing. Arya was thoroughly enjoying herself, and when Jon held up a hand to stop, she pouted. 

“You old man,” she teased, but flopped down next to him anyways.

“What’re they teaching you in that castle?” Jon grinned as he took Needle from her. “You’re incredible.”

Arya shook her head. “Eowyn is incredible. She’s my teacher.”

“And the big hulking one?”

“Brienne. She used to be a lady knight, I think.”

Jon nodded. “You’re taking good care of your sword, I see.”

“Take good care of your weapon and it will return the favor,” Arya recited Eowyn’s words, as she had from day one.

“Gendry said he recognized it on the spot,” her brother said casually, still examining the blade.

Arya felt a flush creep up her neck, though she had no idea why. “He knew it was castle-made right away.”

“He should. He’s a smith, and a damn good one at that.”

“I know. I saw his traps in the woods.”

“That’s right.” Now Jon looked at her. “When you ran into him.” Though he didn’t pose it as a question, she heard what he was asking anyways.

“Yeah. I was on patrol with Kel, and we had split up. It was only a few minutes, but we recognized each other.” 

“And you didn’t tell anyone.” Jon’s voice held no judgment, only curiosity.

Arya shook her head. “What could I say? It’s not exactly like he’s an old friend.”

“Then what is he?”

“I don’t know,” she huffed, taking back Needle. “He helped us, once. I never thought …” She trailed off, her puzzled thoughts returning.

“And still, you let him go.”

So Gendry hadn’t mentioned the cave. Arya wasn’t sure if she was glad or not.

“He said he knew you, and I believed him.”

“I’m glad you trusted him.” Her gaze lifted to meet Jon’s. “He’s been a loyal and honest friend to me.”

_Of course he had._ It seemed Gendry could do no wrong. And yet, Arya knew that wasn’t true at all. He’d told her himself, that night. He had made mistakes, and it seemed he was still coming to terms with them. But Jon was right. 

“He’s a good man,” Jon said gently. Then his voice became teasing. “He also has an endless supply of questions about you, it seems.”

Arya trained her eyes on the ground, ignoring her heated face. “I hope you didn’t answer all of them.”

“No, I told him he could ask you himself.” Jon was grinning mercilessly when she looked back up at him, startled. So she shoved him, rolling her eyes when he was content to lie on the ground, only laughing harder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Arya and Kel were heading back to the camp. 

“They seem alright,” Kel said quietly. “As in, they don’t mean any harm. They’re just trying to survive, like we are.”

Arya had made the same observations. They were a fun, rag-tag bunch, constantly teasing and fighting and yelling like she and her Watch sisters. And yet, the men managed to get things done, to her constant amazement.

When they arrived, Kel was swept up immediately by Dom, Lem, and Anguy, who all insisted they had something important for her to see. Arya grinned at the sight of her friend nonchalantly hearing out their arguments, winking back at her.

She felt his gaze on her not soon after. He always seemed to find her, whether she was in the midst of a crowd or a few feet away. It was strange and yet welcoming all at once, to think someone was looking for her, wondering about her. Still, she waited a few minutes before turning, knowing he was sitting outside the tent to her right. Gendry smiled tentatively, raising his hand in a wave before going back to his work, and Arya sighed. Giving in, she marched over and sat down with a thump on the log next to him.

“My brother says I should trust you.”

Quizzical blue eyes roamed her face. “And do you?”

“I suppose I do. I guess I have, all this time.” 

“You don’t seem very happy about it,” he noted, though his face had brightened considerably.

“I’m just confused. It goes against my instincts.”

“Why? Because I’m not a woman?”

_No, you certainly are not,_ she agreed silently.

“Maybe.” She fiddled with her belt. “Men don’t exactly have a good track record with me.”

“Then I don’t blame you,” he said quietly, returning his attention to the knife he was sharpening. “But if we’re going by that logic, I really shouldn’t trust you, either. Seeing as you’re a beautiful woman who can use a sword.”

Arya wasn’t sure which part of his sentence made her blush more; she was torn between slapping him or jumping him. Still, a note of melancholy in his voice hadn’t escaped her, and she knew he was talking from personal experience.

“Fair enough. Clean slate?” She held out her hand, meeting his gaze squarely as he studied her. Then he gave a crooked little half-smile, as if they were both in on a joke, and clasped her hand. Shaking once, Arya let go as quickly as she could, finding herself filled with jittery nerves. 

“What is it?” Gendry was still watching her.

“I need to just … _do_ something, to stop thinking.” Arya thought it was a poor explanation, but he only nodded, setting down his things.

“Alright. What can we do?”

_We._ A small part of her piped up that that sounded nice.

“Fight. I need to fight.” At the look on his face, she amended, “Duel.” 

“Oh. Of course. One moment.” He took his things inside the tent, reemerging with a sword. She bounced up from the log, eager to take out her feelings in combat.

When they reached the glade again, Arya barely hesitated before unsheathing Needle, the whisper of the sword in the air already quieting her mind. Her thoughts settled, focused on the sword in her hand and the balance of her feet. And Gendry in front of her, the steel of his own sword glinting in the sun.

But for once there was no confusion. She was charging, and his arm was up to defend – more to the right, he should have leaned - and _there_. The shock ran up her arm as their blades collided, steel ringing loudly in the air. Arya could tell he had been practicing with Jon. Gendry moved with similar, practiced motions, if a bit more slowly. But she found out quickly enough that his strength made up for that. She brought up Needle to take the force of his blow – and then wished she hadn’t, as the aftershocks continued up her sword arm long after. 

Shaking out her arm, she glared at him. “Is your arm made of steel or something, ser smith?”

Gendry laughed. “Is that a _compliment,_ m’lady?”

Arya stuck her tongue out and advanced again, meeting him blow for blow with a certain relish. Though she was faster, much faster, she appreciated that he wasn’t holding back at all. He knew better than to treat her like a delicate doll. As they continued, trading jabs and barbs occasionally, Arya realized she was having fun. And so was he. Despite the sweat pouring off his face and his increasingly heavy limbs, Gendry’s eyes were bright with mischief, his face open with elation. Finally, Arya managed to confuse and disarm him, putting Needle at his throat.

“Yield,” she grinned triumphantly.

His hands went up in surrender. “I yield.”

He laughed when she took the sword away, sitting down against the tree trunk and patting the ground next to him in invitation. Arya sat cross-legged, fighting the sudden urge to lean against his shoulder.

“That was _fun_.” Gendry’s face was alive with an almost childish excitement. 

She had to agree. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Can we do that again?”

Arya smiled, looking down at Needle. “Maybe. But only if you behave,” she teased, finding herself oddly comfortable with him.

His voice was low and throaty when he replied. “And what if I don’t?” Gendry was staring at her openly when she glanced up, shivering agreeably at the heat in his voice. Her breath caught at the look in his eyes, the bright blue darkening to navy. His gaze drifted to her lips, and lower, before traveling upwards again, and Arya was frozen in place, gooseflesh rising all over her body.

Ever so gently, his head inched closer, his eyes asking a silent question. Arya wanted to move – no, that was a lie. She _didn’t_ want to move at all. Not until he finished what he’d started, quenching the fire that had started to burn low in her belly. Though he was moving far too slowly, Arya couldn’t make herself move a muscle to help him, only able to stare at the sharp line of his cheekbone, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the white scar by his left eye.

He was close enough that she could feel his shaky breaths mix with hers when the yell sounded.

“Arya!”

They jumped apart hurriedly, Arya falling back as Gendry practically threw himself in the opposite direction. She scrambled to her feet, leaning on Needle just as Kel rounded the corner.

“There you are. Where have you been?”

“We were fighting.” Arya gestured to Gendry, who was still lying on the ground. Thankfully, his dazed expression only helped her story. “I won,” she tried to grin, hoping her friend wouldn’t notice her trembling hands, or the fact that she was leaning on Needle far too much.

But Kel was too distracted by her news, and in her eagerness to share, she missed what would have otherwise been obvious. She took Arya’s hand, pulling her back to the main camp to show her what the other men had been discussing, yelling over her shoulder for Gendry to follow. Arya didn’t dare look back, certain that another look at those eyes of his would have her losing her mind entirely.

She spent the rest of the day letting Jon usher her amongst the others in his camp, meeting Lem and Dom and Anguy and learning more about their deal with the townspeople. Kel spoke for them both when she said she wished the Watch had thought of that sooner. Her friend soaked in the new information, wanting to take as much knowledge back to the castle as she could. Meanwhile, Arya busied herself by sticking to Jon’s side and asking endless questions. Later, she was introduced to Yasim, the camp healer. An older, olive-skinned man, Yasim smiled with a quiet ease and spoke very precisely in unhurried tones. He didn’t speak often, but when he did, Arya noted that everyone else stopped to listen. His whole demeanor was calming, and she found herself relaxing as he showed her common remedies for more simple injuries. 

She didn’t see Gendry again, though before they left that evening, Jon pulled her side. “Are you alright?”

She tried not to bristle. “Just fine.”

Her older brother raised an eyebrow knowingly, but Arya simply arched her own brow in reply, settling a hand on her hip. He would not be getting another word out of her. Recognizing the look, he sighed but smiled nonetheless.

“I have something for you. Well, actually, it’s not from me.” He pulled out a small pouch, placing it in her hand. 

“What is it?”

Jon shrugged. “Dunno. Ask Gendry.”

Arya’s head snapped up. “Gendry?”

“He asked me to give it to you. Said he was busy or he’d have done it himself.”

A likely story. Then again, after today, Arya wasn’t surprised he hadn’t tried to approach her. Not that she’d given him much of a chance.

So she nodded, chewing her lip distractedly. “Thanks,” she mumbled, and gave Jon a hug before heading back.

Alone in her room, Arya finally pulled at the ties of the pouch, tipping it over in her hand. A small silver shape fell onto her palm, and her throat caught in a sob at the silhouette – a howling wolf.

That stupid, stupid Bull.


End file.
